The Clearing Future

This is the way the world ends,
our death, I swear, our not to be,
fast in the distance, a growing dot
that strains our eyes to tears as it blows in,
full and black become, too fast to dodge.
No fancy-footed sidesteps for us then,
like drunken monkeys, caged experiments
fed brandy lies until the liquor stops
and here we stand, frozen for those
malignant birds soaring hard strikes,
exploding into us, iron feather clouds,
we still panes of glass to shatter in shards
that stab the dirt, lie glittering to sand
where we once stood and saw it all to be.